


could you maybe act like you don't hate me

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/F, Il Muto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Il Muto has hit a snag--every time Carlotta and Christine run a scene together, Christine freezes up. She can't touch Carlotta; she can barely look at her. Carlotta sets out to solve Christine's skittishness and learns it may have an unexpected cause.





	could you maybe act like you don't hate me

All was well in the universe. Carlotta had been returned to the spotlight with the role of countess for _Il Muto_. Christine Daae, meanwhile, had been cast as Serafimo, a mute role which wouldn’t even allow her to sing and, being the trousers role in a lewd comedy, would leave her only a scant amount of dignity. Order had been restored to the world, and Carlotta couldn’t be happier.

Except that, despite roles being arranged in a manner that should have been quite satisfactory, _Il Muto_ was not running smoothly at all. Which was because of Christine. In the past, even in small parts she had performed to the best of her ability—as a dancer Carlotta had always thought she did rather well. But apparently being in a trousers role of this sort she lost her acting ability entirely.

“We’re going to be running the scene where the countess first seduces Serafimo again,” the director said, “since it seems to currently be a rough patch.”

Carlotta scowled at him.

“…since it seems to present unique challenges, which are understandable given the delicate nature of the scene,” the director amended. “Carlotta. Christine. My dear, patient ensemble. Are you ready?”

Carlotta hustled to her place on stage left and stood with her arms crossed. The ensemble positioned themselves at the edges of the stage as well, where from time to time they would be expected to react to events despite the fact that for this scene they technically were not supposed to be present. Playing the audience surrogate. Christine stood in center stage. For this scene she was supposed to be a servant boy—it was only later in the plot that the countess devised the plan of disguising her as a maid so they could be together more freely. She knelt on the ground, miming washing the floor.

“And, go,” said the director.

Carlotta strode across the stage—trying to keep her movements seductive despite her frustration—and paused directly behind Christine. She sang her opening line: “Young boy, tell me, have you seen the master of the house?”

Christine looked up. She was supposed to look surprised and a tinge nervous to see her mistress standing over her. Instead she was stiff. She raised her eyebrows as if in pain.

Carlotta repeated her line. She sang it three times and Christine shrugged, first a little, then hugely, shrugging with almost her entire body. At this point the countess remembered—of course, the staff had told her earlier that Serafimo was mute. She apologized for being rude, and asked one more time, after which Christine shook her head.

Carlotta smiled and sang, more to the audience than to Christine, “Then it would seem we are alone.”

She swished her huge skirts right over Christine’s head, then off again. Then she reached out to pull Christine up—a simple dance sequence followed here, enacting the countess persuading Serafimo to start their affair—but Christine instead pushed herself up off the floor. Carlotta began to walk around her, singing about how beautiful of an afternoon it was outside if Serafimo would join her for a walk in the garden, and Christine stood frozen, stiff as a board.

At last Carlotta took Christine’s hand and pulled her close. They walked together for a few steps, Carlotta’s hips working and Christine…well, moving her feet. Carlotta ran her hands over Christine’s arms. Christine continued not to react. At last she hesitantly put a hand on Carlotta’s waist—this action was actually part of the choreography, so she could not avoid it. But her fingers barely grazed the cloth of Carlotta’s costume.

“Stop!” the director shouted.

Christine’s hand immediately dropped away and she put her hands on her hips. Carlotta called out, “How do you expect us to rehearse if you stop us every few lines?” It was just barely possible that, given a couple more minutes, Christine would have gotten into it. Not likely but possible.

“Restart from Carlotta’s entrance. Christine, Serafimo is enchanted with his mistress! He has his doubts, but remember she is a beautiful woman and you are a man flattered by her attentions. Please. Show me that attraction.”

“I’ll try my best,” Christine said. Her expression toward the director was earnest. She didn’t look at Carlotta at all.

And even after another five runs, their eyes had still hardly met, and their bodies barely touched.

“Que disastre,” Carlotta said to Piangi, flopping down on a chair in his dressing room. “I had actually begun to believe she had talent after seeing her in Hannibal. Can you believe that? I must have been as brainwashed as the audience. The girl is as unwieldy as a block of stone. Every time I try to soften her up, she freezes harder.”

“She is young,” Piangi said. “One must make allowances for her age. Seduction scenes can be trying.”

Carlotta snorted. “At her age, seduction scenes were my forte.”

“Yes, prima donna, but you know you are an exception to most rules.”

Carlotta laughed. She’d been on the verge of starting a screaming catfight with Christine the next time they were on stage together, but Piangi always reminded her to relax, reminded her that small setbacks were not the end of the world. Still. She sighed. “I’m known for portraying affairs as cheerful and sensual, Ubaldo. My audience expects this of me.”

“I’m sure you will achieve that in this opera as well, dear.”

“Not at this rate. And the worst part is, even if they know it’s Christine’s fault, it will reflect badly on me. If nothing else, I should be able to _make_ her act. Why can’t I…”

“Well, it’s not surprising she’s nervous around you,” Piangi pointed out. “After all, you two don’t generally get along.”

“That’s not my fault, that’s because she tries to steal my parts.”

“Of course, prima donna, your anger was understandable. Trust me, I was always on your side. You know I was, and I am.” Piangi squeezed Carlotta’s shoulders, releasing tension. “Still, you did scare her. You know you can be very intimidating, and to someone so young…”

Carlotta sighed. “Ubaldo, are you telling me to make amends?”

“For the good of the show, love. I know everything you do is always for the show, and for your audience.”

“More likely she’s bitter than scared,” Carlotta muttered. “I think she has more backbone than you claim. Even if she didn’t write those letters, to take my part in Hannibal…”

“It may hurt your pride, but prima donna,” Piangi said, “your pride in your work must be the greater—if you feel the show cannot continue like this, then the rift between you and Christine must be mended.”

Carlotta rose. “Very well. I’ll swallow my pride. I’ll get on my knees and grovel. For the sake of my audience, and since you asked me to, Ubaldo. And if she isn’t willing to accept my humble apologies, then I will take no blame for this show going off its tracks, as indeed I feel disinclined to take any such blame already.”

“Prima donna, your humility is exemplary.”

“Hmph. You’d say anything to get your way.” Carlotta shook her head. “Well, we’ll see how it goes.”

Christine had her own dressing room these days. Her ten minutes in the spotlight were over but their aftereffects lingered, besides which Carlotta suspected the managers intended her to get larger roles soon, working up to it slowly. Even giving her Serafimo in place of a chorus role was one sign of that. The audience liked Christine, and the audience was all the managers ever cared about.

Well, at least her private dressing room meant it was easy to find her. Carlotta knocked on the door, and Christine answered in a dressing gown. Her eyes widened at seeing Carlotta, and she backed away hastily.

“I believe we need to talk,” Carlotta said. She came inside and shut the door behind her. “We need to talk about your current performance.”

Christine backed away another step. “I do not have much experience acting the part of a male lead, and I know my body language…”

“Is abominable. I’m glad we can agree on that.” Carlotta crossed her arms. “Look, we both know you hate me. That’s an open secret—you don’t need to keep projecting it onstage.”

“I don’t…”

“Your role as Serafimo,” Carlotta said, “is acting. So you hate me. But you must pretend you love me, even if every fiber of your being screams otherwise. That is the job of an actress or a singer, for the sake of her audience. Do you understand?”

Christine shakily nodded. “Look…”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Good. I understand there has been tension between us in the past. But I am trying to work with you. We must try to work together.”

Carlotta held out a hand. Christine took it. Her hand shook through the brief handshake, and she snatched it away when Carlotta released it.

Carlotta sighed. “All right. Now that is exactly our problem.”

“What?”

“That. No one will be convinced we are lovers if you cannot bear to touch me or look at me.”

Christine bit her lip. “I am very sorry. I will try to do better.”

“Will you?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Then, give me your hand again.”

Carlotta held out her hand. When Christine shakily offered her own, Carlotta put her other hand on top and cradled it until it stopped shaking. Usually she would use such a gesture to warm one of Piangi’s hands up in the winter—he had poor circulation. Christine trembled for another reason, but after a long couple minutes she grew calm.

“Good,” Carlotta said. “Very good. Now, put your other hand on top of mine.”

Christine did so. It did not tremble.

“The audience calls me a goddess, as is proper. Your fear, too, is proper in its own way. But I am also a woman. Touching me will not kill you, no matter how unpleasant you find it.” Carlotta moved her hand to cradle Christine’s wrist. “Run your hand up my arm, little one.”

Christine did so quickly, fingers skimming across the fabric of Carlotta’s dress.

“Slower, now.”

Slowly. The fabric wrinkled under Christine’s hand as it moved up, past the elbow, past the bicep, to rest on Carlotta’s shoulder. Carlotta smiled. Christine’s body language had loosened, though it was still a little tense. “Now, that was not difficult, was it?”

“No,” Christine said quietly.

“Now, hold my waist. Like you are supposed to onstage.”

Delicately, carefully, Christine placed her hands on Carlotta’s waist, the heel of her hands resting on Carlotta’s skirt, on her hips, and the palm and fingers stretching around. There were probably men in the world who could with their hands almost encircle Christine’s waist, thin as a reed, but none who could do the same for Carlotta. Christine didn’t even come close, but after a moment her grip settled more firmly and when she looked Carlotta in the eyes, Carlotta thought she might make a convincing man. With a little more practice, she might even be commanding.

This “making amends” business of Piangi’s had been a better idea than Carlotta had initially thought.

“Good job,” she said. “Smile.”

Christine smiled. It was absolutely painful. So that aspect of her performance still needed a lot of work.

Carlotta shook her head. “Let’s go over the earlier part. Kneel.”

Christine dropped to her knees. She was wearing only the dressing gown, so her knees were almost bare on cold wood. Carlotta looked down at the length of her legs revealed at the bottom, tiny feet with slightly knobby ankles and just the beginning of well-toned calves. Then she saw that Christine was looking up at her—after refusing to look at her for so long in rehearsal it seemed now she could not look away—so she swallowed and refocused. “It is all right if you lean into me when I swish my skirts over you, but if you must act stunned, that will also do. It is the first time in the opera I show you…sexual attention.”

Christine silently nodded.

Carlotta moved her skirts over Christine more hurriedly than usual. Christine still looked stunned, but perhaps not as frozen as before. Progress. In fact, when Carlotta moved away she caught the tips of Carlotta’s skirt with one hand and let it trail away from her slowly. “Would that be a nice touch?”

“Not bad,” Carlotta said. “A nice idea, indeed. Now.” She held out her hand to Christine, and not only did Christine take it this time but with her other hand she grasped Carlotta’s lower arm as she pulled herself up. Carlotta noticed how the skirt of her dressing gown dripped down her legs as she rose.

Carlotta walked around her, casually brushing against her here and there—sometimes with a wandering hand on Christine’s hip, sometimes with a leg bumping Christine’s leg through her skirt. Finally she paused with her chest pressed against Christine’s back. She put her arms around Christine’s waist.

“This isn’t how the scene goes,” Christine noted.

“You need to get used to improvisation,” Carlotta said.

Christine nodded. She had started trembling again—maybe having the entirety of Carlotta’s body pressed up against hers was too much. Carlotta said, “If you want to be a prima donna, be used to at least this much.”

Christine didn’t say anything.

Carlotta sighed. She could feel the rush of air vibrate through Christine’s back as it escaped her chest. “If you want we can stop here. You are doing better. I’m sure the director will…”

Christine put her hands on Carlotta’s. Gently, she pulled one of Carlotta’s hands up, past Christine’s waist and up to her chest. She clasped it against her breast. Carlotta splayed her fingers out, admiring the texture of the dressing gown’s lace. “Good girl.”

Christine looked up. Carlotta’s head hovered over hers, so close that even their hair was mixed together, mingling red and brown. She reached over her shoulder to touch Carlotta’s cheek. Gently, she pulled Carlotta closer, down to her level. Then, gently, she placed a kiss on Carlotta’s lips.

And there, it seemed, she lost all her ability for gentleness.

Her hand on Carlotta’s hand on her breast squeezed, pressing Carlotta’s palm and fingers against her. She leaned into the clutch as she forced her tongue between Carlotta’s lips. Carlotta kissed back, trying to moderate her passion, but it was hard to keep up with her energy—the rough way she bit against Carlotta’s lips, the thrusts of her tongue. She bucked her hips back against Carlotta’s groin and an inelegant moan escaped Carlotta’s lips. She gripped down hard on Christine—one hand on her breast, one still on her hip.

The angle was terrible.

She pulled out of the kiss and held Christine still. “I see you have committed to the role.”

Christine was panting. She said, in a strangled tone of voice, “Fuck you.”

Carlotta raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to?”

“Fuck…”

“Is that why you tremble when I am near? Is that why you can’t meet my eyes? Acting like a proper young lady while hiding in your heart all sorts of…”

Christine craned her neck, angling for another kiss. Carlotta pushed her cheek away. “I don’t believe in rushed fornication, darling.” Then, slowly, she kissed Christine’s neck. “Anything worth doing ought to be savored.”

She turned Christine to face her. The dressing gown was tied closed—she undid the tie. For a long moment she enjoyed the sight of a single pale strip of flesh while Christine trembled in front of her. The girl wasn’t wearing anything under the dressing gown—one had to wonder how she’d been bold enough to answer the door or let Carlotta in. Unless, perhaps, letting Carlotta see her like this had been something she’d wanted all along, though she was perhaps too shy to do anything about it.

Then she pulled the dressing gown off, and took in the sight of Christine’s nude body. It was pale, very pale. Swedish, of course. The curve of her breasts caught light from the high window in the corner of the room, as well as the lamp on the dressing table, and they made the most interesting shadows. She had a little stomach, too, usually held back by a corset. Carlotta put her hands back on her waist, then reached down and squeezed her tight little butt.

Christine squealed and squirmed a little under the touch. Carlotta pulled her close, and brought one hand up to brace her back. “What do you want?”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am already touching you, Miss Daae. What do you want?”

Christine bit her lip. “May I show you?”

“Like a mute trying to communicate with his lover?” Carlotta smiled. “Oh, you are certainly getting into this part. Go ahead.”

Christine moved Carlotta’s hand to her front, to her groin. Carlotta brushed against the bush of hair covering it, then reached down and let her hand sit between Christine’s legs. Arousal had already made the sides of her thighs sticky, and her lips were soft and wet. “Is this what you want?”

Christine rubbed against her hand, and grabbed Carlotta’s shoulders for leverage. “More,” she panted. “ _More_.”

Carlotta reached up, prying apart Christine’s lips to let her fingers in. Still so wet, so lovely wet. She moved her fingers back and forth, back and forth. Her other hand was still braced on Christine’s hip, and she clutched it hard. As she worked she kissed Christine’s lips, leeching a moan out of them. Christine couldn’t hold still enough to kiss well, couldn’t stop twitching, almost thrashing. But the taste of her was still delicious. Carlotta sucked a kiss onto her collarbone. A light sweat mingled with the taste of flowery perfume.

When she came, a little fluid rushed onto Carlotta’s fingers. She continued to move them for a few minutes as Christine panted in exhausted pleasure, then brought her hand away. Leaving a final kiss on Christine’s ravished lips, she went to the dressing table and cleaned her hand with the towel Christine had there to remove makeup.

Christine said, “Carlotta.”

Carlotta waited. She did not continue. “Yes,” she said, “Carlotta.”

“Carlotta.” She stumbled to Carlotta’s side and threw her arms around her, kissing her cheek. “Let me touch you, let me touch you…”

Carlotta swallowed. She was aroused, it was true. “If you like. But I’m not getting undressed for you.”

She lifted her skirts. Christine ducked under—would this experience make her more or less likely to freeze up onstage, Carlotta wondered—and pulled Carlotta’s underwear down. Her technique at fingering was not incredible, and Carlotta did not come, but it was enjoyable. At last Carlotta had to pull her out. It had been some time since Carlotta came in here, and she had dinner plans with Piangi.

“You can join us tonight if you want,” she said as she watched Christine dress.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Any friend of mine is a friend of Piangi’s. Especially a special friend.” She smiled as ingratiatingly as she knew how. “Besides, he already likes you. He was the one who assured me whatever occurred with all those letters had to be a misunderstanding.”

Christine, so loose after sex, stiffened. “No, I did not send those letters.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Carlotta was sure of no such thing—a crush was as likely to motivate malice as discourage it—but it hardly mattered now; she was sure after this rendezvous she’d have Christine on a leash. “Piangi is very fond of you. Do come out to dinner.”

Christine glanced at her full length mirror. Carlotta stepped in front of her. “You look beautiful. Astounding. I’d love to be seen in your company.”

“People might talk.”

“People already talk about our rivalry. Now they’ll say we’re friends. Who cares? Come out tonight.” Carlotta tilted her head and smirked. “And afterwards, if you want, you can see my apartment…”

“I need my sleep tonight.” Christine smiled. She looked suddenly tired, but still she smiled. “But very well. I’ll come out with you.”

Carlotta offered her hand. “Then walk with me. By the end of the week they’ll say we’re as natural onstage as partners of many years. You can spit in the director’s face.”

Christine laughed nervously. “I’m sure I wouldn’t…”

“Very well then, I’ll do it for you.” Carlotta kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been more than a month since my last real Carlottastine fic and this will not stand. Il Muto is the real source of all my Carlottastine feels. Also, this is my first Carlottastine smut fic...opinions, anyone?  
> Comments are much appreciated! Or come talk to me on tumblr at convenientalias.


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